"Give me children," replied Stan.
"What else shall I give you?"
"Children, sir, give me children!"
"Take care," said the angel, "or there will be too many of them. Have you enough to support them?"
"Never mind that, sir,—only give them to me!"
The travelers departed; but Stan accompanied them as far as the high-road, that they might not lose their way among the fields and woods.
When Stan reached home again, he found the house, yard, and garden filled with children, in all not less than a hundred. Not one was larger than the other; but each was more quarrelsome, bolder, more mischievous and noisier than the rest. And, in some way, God made Stan feel and know that they all belonged to him and were his.
"Good gracious! What a lot of them!" he cried, standing in the midst of the throng.
"But not too many, husband," replied his wife, bringing a little flock with her.
Then followed days which can only be experienced by a man who has a hundred children. The house and village echoed with shouts of "father" and "mother," and the world was full of happiness.